All That Is Gold Does Glitter
by Werecat Boy
Summary: For the first time, Constance Hatchaway, Gracey Manor's black widow bride, details her life in her own memoirs.
1. Early Years And Ambrose

_This was a little idea I had to write after one of my recent trips to the Mansion with AquarianWolf. At first, I really wasn't too wild about Constance and her character, but after recent rides, I've taken quite a liking to her. So I decided to write my own little story detailing about how I picture her life in her own memoirs. I'll be posting more eventually as I get it finished. And thanks very much to AquarianWolf for all her editing work and always adding any input to my stories! :)_

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Harlot. Gold digger. Lizzy Borden's sister. These are just a few of the horrible slanderous words that have been referred to me over the past number of years. Now I admit that in many ways I am not a model citizen, but I hardly think I deserve such filthy and smearing words as these to my good reputation. Which is why I have now taken it upon myself to sit down and fully outline to you, dear friend, the memoirs of my entire life. For the first time ever, you will hear the accurate and truthful retelling of my former mortal existence, without the distasteful propaganda against me. I'm confident that once you have heard the true and complete story, you will perhaps change your opinion of me greatly.

First, a introduction is in order of course. I am Constance Hatchaway: wealthy socialite, mistress of ceremonies, and an accomplished actress (especially on wedding nights.) Most stories begin with a description of childhood, but I think the less said about it, the better.

I had grown up in a small hovel within the middle of a sleepy farming community in Kansas. Although how much grew there I do not know, considering it was almost always dust bowl season. In my old idiotic childhood innocence, I suppose I was somehow miraculously happy on that pitiful farmland, yet I desired my parents' attention. For you see, to put it bluntly, my parents never wanted children. My father was a harsh man always wrapped up in his silly little drinking and gambling games, despite us being dirt poor, while mother was a fierce task master who controlled her life with an ironed fist. (Like mother, like daughter they always say.) Her and I often clashed heads together throughout my childhood, but one piece of advice she lectured lingered with me throughout my entire life - "Don't waste yourself on love. Marry for money, and lots of it. I married for love and look at where the hell I am now."

Her prophetic words made me ponder long and hard. Would I really want to be 40 years old, looking twice my age than I should be, with a destructive alcoholic for a husband who would destroy my happiness? I was determined not to become my mother and live a squalid wretched life.

Eventually, life progressed, and I put up with my parents' quarrels and sneering attitudes. To me, the sounds of raised voices and flying frying pans was no different than hearing the birds in the trees. Finally, upon reaching my sixteenth birthday, and now forever done with that cramped and stuffy school house, I planned to leave that depressing little shack in the middle of who-knows-where. I was giddy in excitement of the anticipation. Now, it was my time to live my own life and see the world! Unfortunately, being raised in a poor family left me with one little disadvantage...I had no money to do any of it.

So I simply sat there in that menial little hovel, continuing to help mother out with her maudlin little chores, for about the next year. Each day I yearned to be free and run away from that disgusting shack, but with no money at my disposal, it looked as if my life was officially over.

Until one fateful day, when it appeared as if by some sheer stroke of dumb luck, my father had purchased my ticket to society. A new gentleman in town had just recently purchased a large estate nearby, and somehow joined up with my father's poker buddies. How a man with such high finance and of elite social strata chose to socialize with father still remains a mystery to this day. In any event, the wealthy gentleman went by the name of William Harper, a wealthy farmer and plantation owner with estates in Kansas City and New Orleans, and a large steamboat and shipping company on the Mississippi.

Having mortgaged our house to the hilt (and running out of items to gamble with) my stupid cow of a father bet that if he lost, William's son would have my hand in marriage. Naturally, with the Hatchaway family streak of luck, he lost, and then told me of the turn of events. Of course, that evening I was absolutely furious and practically refused to speak at all to him for about a week...until that day arrived.

Having arrived on an afternoon train, William and his son, Ambrose, paid a visit to our dirt farm to be introduced to his "blushing bride to be." Ambrose himself was quite a meek and timid little man; plainly dressed, and rather drab in personality himself. He tried to make small talk and conversation, droning on about some ridiculous butterfly collection, and how many 20 species he had collected. I retained my sanity though by directing my attention to William himself. The elder Harper was immaculately dressed, as he prattled on to my parents about his multiple farms and houses in the Louisiana, Arkansas, and Missouri area, along with his entire fleet of ships on the Mississippi. My parents hung onto his every word with wide eyes, their lips almost seeming to lick at hearing the words in greedy ecstasy. I must admit I was rather interested as well as Mister Harper praised on about his life like some great storyteller. Marriage might not be so bad after all...

A few months had passed and Ambrose and I were soon wed. I finally gave my parents one last farewell before leaving them forever out of my life, and settling in Kansas City with my new husband. I admit that while first impressions were very mixed, I eventually grew to like the company of the little dullard. While he wasn't particularly interesting or personable, I will admit he was very romantic. He tried to serenade me in the evenings (despite his nauseating warbling voice), and he even presented me with the most darling string of pearls I had ever saw. (And who am I to hurt anyone's feelings and refuse such a beautiful gift?) And while he wasn't always particularly fascinating to be around, I did manage to keep busy with meeting some very influential and fascinating people at cotillions that William had hosted for us.

Unfortunately, tragedy struck. My poor dear daddy-in-law was soon stricken sick with a sudden illness and passed on within a month. I admit I was very heartbroken for a short period...but eventually that all trickled out when I found out that Ambrose and I would get the bulk of his pappy's estate. We now had all the wealth we could have at our disposal; except Ambrose wouldn't allow it. That little stick-in-the-mud was always so frugal with everything! "Now Constance dear, we need that to pay for momma's medicine! Now Constance dear, we need more money for the company's assets! Now Constance dear, we need the money for a doctor for momma!" On and on and on! I knew Ambrose had cared for his sickly little old mother, but this was getting to be ridiculous! Just because the woman had smallpox, dysentery, the measles, and now had to be in a wheelchair with polio, that somehow makes her more important than me?! Well, I wouldn't have any of that.

The final straw came one evening when Ambrose returned home from the factory. On one of my strolls through town that afternoon, I had seen one of the most gorgeous pieces of diamond jewelry you had ever laid eyes on. I pleaded with my darling for money to purchase it the next day...but what did he do? "I'm sorry Constance dear, but we need that money to fix momma's wheelchair so she doesn't fall out again." That was all I could take of it. Without showing any contempt at all for my shattered heart and desires, that smug little bastard just walked right on by me, and headed upstairs to take a nap. How could he do that? How could he deny a poor little neglected farmer's girl the one thing she always desired? Jewelry...and I suppose some love too.

Not knowing exactly where I would go, I stormed out of the house and into the backyard, plopping myself down by the riverside. I sat there for a few minutes scowling and staring off into the river as the waters flowed down the stream and into the city. As I gazed into the dark water, my mother's voice suddenly seemed to harken back to me. "Don't waste yourself on love. Marry for money." Lifting my head up and gazing toward the house, I then noticed it as if it had been divine providence - the handyman's hatchet left buried into the stump of a tree. I grinned in delight at the thought of it. Stripping the blade from the wood, I stared at the gleaming tool in triumph. After all, would anyone miss such a boring little man other than his dear old mommy dearest?

Carefully treading my way back into the house, I silently slipped up the staircase to the bedroom. No witnesses, no disturbances; just Ambrose and I all alone in the house. It was perfect. Creaking the door open, I daintily tiptoed my way in as my dear hubby snored his head off soundly. I raised the blade high over my head, but then hesitated as I gazed down at him. Was this really the right way out? Did I really want to end this poor man's life just so I could have a few more measly thousand dollars to myself? You bet I did!

WHACKITY WHACK!

The blade came down, and a loud thump signaled his head rolling off to the floor. The whole affair was more of a bloody mess than I had anticipated, but what are you gonna do? At least the deed was done, and I was feeling free once again. And more importantly, wealthier! I needed a good alibi however, and a place to dump the body. Making sure no one was in sight, I dragged the corpse out into the backyard, and with caution threw it into the river, along with his head. By the time morning had come, someone was sure to find it in the harbor. And with the river passing more than 20 houses, there was no chance they could have proven it was me. I quickly then dashed upstairs to our room, and hurriedly tidied up the place, along with disposing of the sheets. For a moment I considered dispatching with the weapon as well, but looking at that hatchet made me smile - it made me wealthier than I had ever imagined before. I made sure to give it a proper cleaning, and then stashed it out of sight. Being the dutiful wife I pretended to be, I alerted the police in alarm that my husband had not come home yet this evening. The fools immediately bought it, and went out to search for him as I danced merrily about the mansion.

The next morning, as I had predicted, the body was found floating in the harbor and the police informed me of the news. Of course, I displayed the act of the poor grieving widow for the next few weeks, acting so terribly solemn and wailing as loud as I possibly could. (As I mentioned before, I'm an accomplished actress.) With the case unsolved, and no witnesses to attest to what happened, I skipped merrily about scot free with half of the Harper fortune now completely mine. (Apparently, the old hag received the other half as stipulated in Ambrose's will. A momma's boy to the very end.)

But you know, money is such a funny thing. It runs out so fast. Between my balls and parties, new dresses and jewelry, I had almost completely gone through my share of the fortune within that year. I needed more money, but where to find it? Ambrose had left all his companies to his vice-presidents or business partners, so no revenue would come from that. And me, being now a prim and proper lady of high society, certainly wasn't going to lower myself to...ugh, labor. The most obvious solution was only one thing: marry another disgustingly rich slob.

But it sure wasn't going to be in some dreary little city in the middle of the United States. I needed a change of scenery, and most importantly, a change of wealthy men. At one of my recent parties, a duchess informed me of her most recent visits to our nation's capital. She drawled on about how some of the wealthiest of our politicians were absolutely swimming in money, with acres of land around. Naturally, that was all that I needed to hear. Taking what I had left of my dear late husband's money, I sold our mansion, and headed eastward...


	2. Frank

When I arrived in Washington D.C., it was certainly everything the duchess had gabbed about. At every event I went to, the room was always overflowing with politicians in their finery, throwing taxpayers' money about everywhere. However, to my dismay, almost all of them were happily married. And the ones who were unhappily married still refused a good time any way. It would just be my luck to come to this city when suddenly every elected official turned honest.

Yet, all was not lost. For while I may not have found a government official in this city, I did find a very intriguing man one evening. A wealthy and handsome young banker and financier by the name of Frank Banks. I kid you not, a banker with the last name of Banks. It's like finding a librarian with the name of Booker. He was president of some of the largest banks in town, with his wealth spreading to a palatial estate and lots of it tied into the stock market overseas. I presented myself to him that one evening, and before I knew it, he was already completely captivated with me. He proposed that we meet for dinner over the course of the next few evenings, before he was practically on his knees for engagement. Of course, never being one for breaking an ardent admirer's heart I readily accepted.

It was only after our marriage that I could see why Frank proposed to me so suddenly. He was quite the impulsive man himself, always jumping into decisions full steam ahead without any regard for what may happen. I suppose that's how he made some of his best financial decisions, yet he seemed to quickly spend as it came, going though it like water. But despite his fast nature, he was rather the suave and charming gentleman, and often very thoughtful. Unlike stingy Ambrose, Franklin spared no expense when it came to what I wanted. If it was a ring - "Of course, my love!" If I wanted to host a party, it was "Whatever my darling wants." Needless to say, I grew to feel completely content in that estate, and felt at last I was in the true lap of luxury. However, after a few months went by, Frank began to get more caught up in his work, and continually stayed late nights at the bank. Yet, I was more than reasonable with this change of lifestyle...after all, I had my money to keep me company.

But soon that company began to grow more and more scarce. Frank himself wasn't spending nearly as much as he had been before, and his once generous gifts and flow of money for me had dried up as well. I naturally suspected the worst...somehow Frank blew all of our assets and we were completely wiped out. Luckily, the truth wasn't nearly as heart wrenching, but it was still just as infuriating. All those long nights that Frank had supposedly been plugging away in the bank were rendezvous all across the city with more amorous lady admirers of his.

The truth finally revealed itself when I had stayed up late one evening to discuss the situation with him, when through the door the lout entered. He was stinking drunk, reeking of whiskey, and staggered into the hall as he twirled a garter belt around his finger. I demanded the meaning of this situation, and in his drunken stupor he professed four times "I love you, dear!" as well as spilling the beans on his late night liaisons with six other women. Now, being the levelheaded woman that I am, I am very forgiving and was willing to overlook the fact that my dear husband was a cheating low-life drunken worm. Yet, when he refused to back down on any of his spending, I'm afraid it was just his time to go.

As he stumbled into the drawing room (and attempted to make love to a statue in the corridor on his way there), I quickly slipped upstairs to our chambers. Rummaging through my wardrobe, I happily retrieved an old friend. At this point, after realizing marble wasn't a comfortable substitute to make out with, Frank was soundly passed out on the sofa as I entered the room. Standing over the two-timing drunk, all I could do was smile. So peaceful, so sound, dreaming without a care in the world...

WHACKITY WHACK!

Frank's passing I must admit was a lot quicker and more cleaner than Ambrose's. It was almost a satisfying and triumphant feat to see how quickly his snoring head came flying off. Disposing of Frank's body however proved to be more difficult without a river nearby. The only solution was to bury him in the backyard, which while dirty and arduous, proved to be more of a happy task for me. Particularly the fact of seeing the slime get slowly covered in dirt as he so richly deserved.

When morning arrived, I once again feigned worry and alerted the police of my dear husband's disappearance. I cited that I had known of his illustrious nightlife, and eventually the questioning then fell into the locating of his drunken floozies. Eventually the police search led them nowhere, and after two months with no clues in sight, Frank was pronounced dead and his entire estate and wealth justifiably fell upon my feet.

With my expanded wealth, life for me now had become a full-time luxury. I treated myself to only the finest that money could offer, and the parties I hosted only increased in grandeur. It seemed with Frank's fortune I finally was now set for life...except for the fact that I was soon down to only a paltry two thousand within the year. I admit I have no head for numbers and perhaps should have kept a closer eye on my finances, but the situation was dire. I needed money immediately if I wanted to keep my social standing, but where to find it? I went around to a few close friends I had made in the city, but none of the greedy misers even gave a helping hand to a grieving widow like me. I didn't want to resort to it, but the writing on the wall was very clear: I had to single out another filthy rich man...


	3. The Marquis

It was at the invitation from the governor that I arrived to his grand mansion in Virginia for an evening. Amongst his close friends and politicians at the gala, were also dignitaries from around the world who served as diplomats in Washington. While many of them were spectacularly wealthy with fortunes spanning into the millions, they also were terribly boring and prattling on about their "exciting" expeditions. I for one don't find how many types of cheeses there are in Switzerland too thrilling.

However, one man did particularly draw my eye. He was handsome and very exotic looking, as he relegated tales of his daring battles in the past throughout the night. Marquis de Doom (a very charming name if I ever heard one) had been born and raised in Peking, China, and grew up in a very prominent military family. Following in his father's footsteps, he was trained and enlisted in the Chinese army, before soon rising up to the ranks of Marquis. Many of us sat completely spellbound at the table as he sprawled on with yarns of marching into battle, and leading his men to victory, as he wiped out every official of the enemy in his way. He certainly was a violent tempered little man who treasured the sight of a man's spurting blood; which made his resignation to become a foreign diplomat between China and the United States even more surprising.

None the less, what captivated me the most was his prideful boasting of his large wealth back in his homeland. An entire fortune in family antiques had been passed down through his family ancestry, along with acres of prosperous farmland on his Chinese plantation. Naturally, wanting to hear more about his darling little family heirlooms, I attached myself to him for the remainder of the evening. Judging by his leering and compliments on my beauty (as well as his "accidental" slip of the hand up my dress), I was satisfied that I had made quite an impression on him that evening. At the end of the night, he requested to see me the next day for dinner at the embassy, practically begging I accept his invitation. Never being one to refuse a generous offer, I cordially accepted.

Within a month or so, I soon found myself asked to be on the altar once again. However, before we could reach the chapel, the Marquis had one stipulation to our marriage: we return to his estate in China and be wed there. At first I was reluctant to the idea of venturing to a completely different country...however, that parade of priceless antiques quickly danced in front of my eyes. I suppose a change of scenery would be good for me.

But unfortunately, life in the far east wasn't as intriguing as I had hoped it to be. It was certainly a beautiful plantation and home that we resided in, yet it quickly became my prison. The Marquis (being the fierce traditionalist that he was) insisted that I take part in the ancient Chinese customs that all women in his family must learn. In my own demure way, I tried to speak my opinion openly with a firm hand; yet he continued to insist that I needed to learn how to channel my anger problems. Me! Constance Hatchaway with anger issues?! Just who did he think he was insinuating I had anger issues?! If I had the chance, I would have ripped that little dictator's eyes clear out of their sockets! The man had now become a complete hypocrite, droning on about me needing to learn the meditation arts of his ancestors, while his violent little temper was able to be unleashed to his heart's content.

At first I attempted to persuade him out of his tyrannical ruling, and hoped we could comprise to some agreement. But that short fused overlord didn't care one way or the other about my happiness, and merely screamed back in my face. He was a true military man running his house on regiment, expecting me to cook his dinner for him, participate in his ancestral studies,...and presuming he could get in a pinch and squeeze with me here and there. Naturally, such a proper lady like me doesn't take such obscene and strict behavior!

I needed to find a way out of this house and fast. I didn't want a third mark on my record, so instead I formulated a plan that would be much more satisfying. While he was out one day at the counsel building, I left the house and snuck into town, searching for means of transportation back to the states. At the harbor, I managed to locate an office for tickets on steamships (beggars can't be choosers) heading to America. I quickly ruled out Washington since too many people had known me there already, and the Marquis was sure to return and search for me. Glancing across the board, I spied another wealthy city upon the list: Boston. I presumed it was as good as any, and it had plenty of high society to keep me company. I quickly purchased the ticket, and eagerly awaited next week when the ship would arrive.

Lord knows how I did it, but I managed to grudgingly put up with the little tyrant for the next six days. In fact, I think I owed much of my patience to the studies I was required to participate in. I wasn't too fond of being forced to read at least 30 scriptures a day in Chinese, or learn that exhaustive tedious calligraphy; yet the meditation and writing techniques did instruct me to be more calm and self-centered. Also, the channeling and grace helped me to move even more swiftly, and allowed me to slice things with my hatchet in one clean swoop. (Funny how some things work out, isn't it?) Unfortunately, the Marquis was less than happy with my results when he arrived home each evening. Hearing me try to recite my butchered Mandarin, and my poor skills at writing the Chinese language, he would fly into a terrible fit. The horrible little man would berate me as if I had been another soldier in his militia, to which I naturally defended myself in perhaps a more louder tone than required. To which my dear hubby would respond "And you need more work on your meditation!" and stormed off to bed.

Finally on the morning of the seventh day, my chance had come at last. While the dictator was busy at another of his counsel meetings, I practically packed away the entire house. Every piece of money he had stored about the house (which was practically most of his fortune) was quickly thrown into my suitcase. Then with delicate care, I went about picking off every least piece of family antiquities and into my trunks: tapestries, vases, china and dishware, swords and military armor, and everything else.

It was all going according to plan...except for one slight unforeseen incident. The Marquis had left some documents at our manor and returned home to retrieve them. As expected, he exploded in anger with as much intensity as Mount Vesuvius, demanding why the house was almost completely bare. Trying to take a calm grasp of the situation, I simply replied that I was leaving and taking the share I so rightfully deserved. I tried to calmly walk out the door with my spoils, but the ill-mannered man of course was less than reasonable. He screamed that I return all the belongings to the house, and once again insisted that I begin "my duties as a wife." As you can see, I was in quite the complex situation...which I'm afraid left me with only one clear solution.

As the Marquis's face reddened with anger, I quietly slipped a hand into my suitcase and grasped a faithful old tool. Concealing the weapon behind my back, I slowly stepped forward to my beloved husband. With a cowardly whimper, I hung my head low as tears welled up in my eyes. I sobbed and confessed that I had done everything I possibly could to please him and had a terrible time adjusting to this new way of life. And. in a miraculous turn of events, my hubby's stern face seemed to soften. He inched closer to me, with a pathetic look upon his face, as his arms outstretched towards me for an embrace...

WHACKITY WHACK!

His head must have sailed clear down the hall as his body slumped backwards and hit the floor. In a way, it was almost heartbreaking to see him go. He was a fierce taskmaster in the same vein as myself, and I truly respect that in a man. But, I'm afraid there's only room for one of us in the family. Having little time to catch my ship, I quickly dragged his body out of the main hall, and stuffed it into a small closet along with his head. Upon examining the ancient heirloom of his military cap, I figured it could be worth quite a pretty penny, and so I stashed it amongst the other treasures. With a final cleaning of my trusty blade, I packaged it once again with my belongings, and hurried out the door.

Yet, as I began to drive to the docks, I admit that I felt a small twinge of remorse. Even though my brief time in it had been quite the ordeal, I felt a great deal of gratitude towards this land for helping me to secure financial stability once more. Although, the future now looked brighter (and greener) than ever. The Marquis hadn't any friends or remaining family to worry about, and it would be days before anyone at the counsel would realize that he had been missing and search for him. And with us having been married in a foreign country with a small ceremony, there would be no record of our marriage now in the states. Things at last were finally looking up for Constance Hatchaway.

However, I'm afraid fate had bestowed a nasty streak of luck upon me that day. For as much as I had attempted to race on time, I arrived at the harbor only to witness my ship slowly pull itself out of the dock. I panicked at the thought of having to be stuck and wait for another boat within the week; it would be alarmingly too close to the time in which others would begin to investigate the Marquis's disappearance. I frantically called out to the steamship to return, but it was to no avail as it slowly sailed into the horizon...


End file.
